


past our dancing days

by gdgdbaby



Category: Private Romeo (2011)
Genre: Best Friends, Gen, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 15:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/623518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gdgdbaby/pseuds/gdgdbaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's lucky, really, that he has Josh around to goad him into doing anything besides lift weights and play the odd game of one-on-one basketball.</p>
            </blockquote>





	past our dancing days

**Author's Note:**

> boys getting high, written for advent. originally posted at [livejournal](http://gdgdbaby.livejournal.com/102383.html).

The first time they get high together is right after their second semester at the military academy, just as summer's about to begin in earnest. Adam hooks them up with some really prime shit: "Perfect for a mellow comedown after the past month of exam stress," he says, grinning, and Josh takes the little baggie of rolled-up joints without a second thought.

When Josh barges into his dorm room, Sam is half-heartedly emptying the contents of his wardrobe into his suitcase.

"Do you have any plans for this afternoon?"

Sam blinks at him. "Um—I was thinking about hitting the gym, or the track, maybe—"

Josh shakes his head piteously, slings an arm over Sam's shoulder, and drags him out the door. Sam's lucky, really, that he has Josh around to goad him into doing anything other than lift weights and play the odd game of one-on-one basketball. They pilfer a lighter from their CO's contraband drawer and end up at the field, splitting spliffs underneath the bleachers, each puff a heady rush to the head.

"You think I'm gonna get into West Point?" Sam asks when they're passing the third (or sixth, or seventh—numbers have gone a bit fuzzy in his brain, admittedly) joint back and forth, his voice slurred and his pupils blown wide. "I mean—really. Don't sugarcoat it."

Josh thinks about Sam's dogged dedication, the way he's up before everyone for morning jogs and always does his readings, even for bullshit classes like English literature. "If _you_ don't get in," he says, plucking the joint out of his hand and taking a deep drag, "none of us will."

 

 

Josh had never thought himself the jealous, overbearing type—but then he'd never thought Carlos would go all Stanford-prison-experiment berserk when presented with a little bit of power over the weekend, and look where that got him.

Glenn's sweet and harmless enough, of course. It's just that Sam was Josh's friend first, which sounds completely inane and grade school, but there it is. Unnecessary distractions like high school romance aren't going to get Sam into West Point and won't going to do the rest of them any favors, either.

 

 

Afterwards—after Sam and Glenn check out alright with the authorities, after all the lectures and demerits are delivered and the lot of them have been put on dorm latrine duty until basically the end of time—Josh is supposed to be able to provide something. He is the best friend, the brother-in-arms, the shoulder to lean on in times of trial and tribulation.

All he can offer is a leftover joint he fishes out from the bottom of his suitcase. "Medical marijuana," Josh says, cracking a smile and holding it aloft despite the insistent ache in his side.

The grin that spreads over Sam's face is slow but insistent. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the lighter.


End file.
